


my enemy is a friend of mine (in a friendly place to be seen)

by bossy



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a horny bastard (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Edging, Enthusiastic Consent, First Time, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, No Beta, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Scene: Church in London 1941 (Good Omens), Thirsty Aziraphale (Good Omens), Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), rimming mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:53:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24393844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bossy/pseuds/bossy
Summary: “Maybe, instead of touching you myself, you could, ah,” Aziraphale says, flushing, “You could show me, instead, what you do when you – well. You could show me what you feel for me.”Aziraphale gestures, impossibly, to the front of Crowley’s trousers.“What?” Crowley asks, sure he’s heard wrong. “Aziraphale, what in the Heaven – ““I’d like to see you,” Aziraphale says. “All of you. Just this once. Just tonight. Please?”And, well, Crowley has never been one to deny Aziraphale anything.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 297





	my enemy is a friend of mine (in a friendly place to be seen)

**Author's Note:**

> This is just 3000+ words of pure smut. Don't say I didn't warn you.
> 
> Title from "Hollow Moon (Bad Wolf)" by AWOLNATION. I just really like this song, okay?

Crowley’s deep in his cups, wine settling light and airy in his stomach, Aziraphale’s dark back room stretching out exquisitely before him. He’s far past the point where he should’ve sobered up, but he feels happier than he has in decades, worries drained out of him like the wine from its bottle, here with Aziraphale.

Aziraphale. Aziraphale, standing in front of the sole candle that lights the shadowy room, its light illuminating him like a renaissance painting, all luminous pale skin contrasted with the darker hollows of his cheekbones, bent over the candle like some long-ago monk, pious and repenting.

Crowley loves him.

“Satan, angel, do you even know how gorgeous you are?” Crowley asks before he can stop himself.

Aziraphale looks up sharply, an expression flitting across his face that looks upset, regretful even.

“We can’t talk about this,” he says softly.

This, of course, being the elephant in the room, the way Crowley has burned for Aziraphale so long, so hard, harder than he burnt in the ashes when he fell.

“’Course not,” Crowley says sourly. “What did I expect, you to bloody come over here and take my hand? An angel touching a demon, feeling anything besides your pitiful contempt for a demon? ‘Course not.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says, and there’s a warning in his voice.

“What?” Crowley says, voice rising. “’S’not, s’not like you don’t already know how I feel about you, like you don’t already know that I lo—”

In a heartbeat Aziraphale is there on the couch where Crowley is sprawled out, and there are soft fingers over Crowley’s mouth like a kiss.

“Mph,” Crowley says, his lips touching that soft skin as he tries to speak.

“We can’t,” Aziraphale says again, desperately, as he lifts his hand away. “Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry.”

Crowley blinks, and without really trying to he drains a fair bit of the alcohol from his bloodstream.

“If I didn’t know better,” Crowley says slowly, “I’d say — I’d say you’ve thought about this. About me.”

Aziraphale looks away, and Crowley watches as his gaze flickers over to the satchel that holds the books of prophecy that Crowley saved for him earlier in the night.

“You have,” Crowley says.

“You have to know my stance,” Aziraphale says, still looking away. “I’m an angel. You’re a demon. There’s only one possible way this can end.”

“You _have_ ,” Crowley repeats breathlessly.

“Yes,” Aziraphale says, frustrated, “I have. I have. But that’s where it has to end, with thinking about it, because if word of this got out to our superiors, Heaven knows what would happen.”

“They can’t know about it if they don’t see it with their own eyes, and I only see two of us in this room,” Crowley says, eyebrows raised.

Aziraphale looks up, meets Crowley’s eyes.

“My dear,” he says, “If I find out what it’s like to touch you, I’ll never be satisfied without you again.”

“Oh,” Crowley says, swallowing hard.

“Maybe, instead of touching you myself, you could, ah,” Aziraphale says, flushing, “You could show me, instead, what you do when you – well. You could show me what you feel for me.”

Aziraphale gestures, impossibly, to the front of Crowley’s trousers.

“What?” Crowley asks, sure he’s heard wrong. “Aziraphale, what in the Heaven — “

“I’d like to see you,” Aziraphale says. “All of you. Just this once. Just tonight. Please?”

And, well, Crowley has never been one to deny Aziraphale anything.

He snaps his fingers without really thinking about it, without realizing how truly naked he’ll feel, in just his pants in front of someone who he’s known for six thousand years but has never, never seen him unclothed.

With Aziraphale’s eyes grazing over him appreciatively, sweeping over his calves and muscled thighs but landing solidly on the growing bulge in his pants, he feels like a museum piece, very much on display.

Crowley grabs the wine bottle and takes a swig, the bitter tang hitting his throat, glad he still has the shield of his sunglasses between him and Aziraphale.

“Well?” Aziraphale asks. “Are you going to, ah, disrobe?”

He raises his eyebrows, looking at Crowley’s waistband.

“Getting to it, angel,” Crowley says, voice rough, as he removes his sunglasses before he can think better of it.

His boxers are made of silk, and the fabric feels slick and enticing against his skin as he pulls them down and steps out of them into the cool, musty air of Aziraphale’s back room.

His cock is growing harder by the minute, almost its full eight inches by now. Crowley swallows again.

“So, uh,” Crowley says, not really sure what to do with his arms, “that’s it, then. Me.”

Aziraphale is watching him with an intense heat in his eyes that, frankly, scares him a little.

“Neatly trimmed, and very red,” Aziraphale says, eyes fixed on the swath of hair between Crowley’s legs. “I’ve always wondered how you kept it. It’s a fitting look.”

“You’ve — always wondered?” Crowley says, suddenly finding that he needs to sit down.

He collapses onto the couch, hands behind his head, legs spread so Aziraphale can still get a good look at him. He feels very, very naked.

“Well, it’s been more a recent line of thought, really,” Aziraphale admits.

“Oh,” Crowley says, “Well. I’ve — me too. Thought about you. Yeah.”

He’s suddenly very aware of the fact that he’s sitting naked on Aziraphale’s couch, with Aziraphale fully clothed in front of him, waistcoat and all.

“So,” says Aziraphale, and, looking straight at Crowley’s cock, he licks his lips, slowly and decidedly.

“Ng,” Crowley says, feeling his cock jump.

He can’t stop himself from imagining Aziraphale’s lips around his cock. His thighs edge open of their own accord as he thinks how he’d fist his hands in Aziraphale’s hair, Aziraphale bobbing eagerly around his cock.

It’s easy, then, to take his cock in his hand. He’s not afraid anymore, with Aziraphale still looking at him like _that_ , hungrily, lips parting.

“Want your mouth,” Crowley says eloquently.

“Just my mouth, my dear?” Aziraphale asks.

It sounds innocent enough, but there’s a twinkle in Aziraphale’s eye that tells Crowley Aziraphale knows exactly what he’s doing to him.

Still, the thought of Aziraphale offering his hands, maybe even his ass to him short-circuits Crowley’s brain for a moment.

“You wouldn’t,” Crowley says helplessly. “You wouldn’t get on your hands and knees for me. I’m a demon, remember? You — you’ve never —”

“I would,” Aziraphale says. “If things were different, my dear boy, I’d do it every night, and suck you off every teatime. I’m quite adept at these things, you know.”

“You’re _quite adept_ ,” Crowley repeats.

He’s leaking around his fingers, letting the fluid lubricate him, building into a rhythm that’s working for him.

“But to be perfectly honest,” Aziraphale says, “more often than not I fantasize about pressing you into this couch, opening you up with my fingers until you sob, then fucking you through your second orgasm.”

“Oh, fuck,” Crowley says. “Angel, you can’t talk like that or I’m going to — “

“Please do,” Aziraphale says, leaning forward, eyes wide.

“No,” Crowley says firmly, and stops moving his hand.

His body always listens to him. Because he says that, the pressure doesn’t build into a climax, stays a steady yet urgent need.

“I’d really quite wanted to see you come on yourself with my name on your lips,” Aziraphale says, mouth downturned in displeasure.

“What I mean is, not yet,” Crowley says, and takes a shuddering breath as he plunges on, “Not until I can see you come too.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale says, fidgeting. “I’d — I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to that.”

Crowley inspects Aziraphale, Aziraphale’s eyes blown wide, tent of a hard cock evident in his trousers.

“Is this about Heaven, then?” Crowley asks. “Do you think Heaven’s going to care? Nah, Heaven’s not going to care a whit as long as you don’t touch me.”

“Do you really think so? You don’t know Heaven like I do,” Aziraphale says, teeth worrying at his bottom lip.

His fingers play at the button of his trousers, and his gaze keeps coming back to Crowley’s cock, hard and dripping obscenely in Crowley’s hand.

“’Course,” Crowley says, with false bravado. “You can say I tried to tempt you, but you came to your senses after it was over. They’ll like that, that you didn’t touch me. ‘M sure they’ll practically give you a medal for resisting me.”

He expects quite a bit more resistance. He doesn’t expect Aziraphale to pop open the first button of his trousers, then the second, reaching into his boxers to grab his thick cock and maneuver it through the layers, finally releasing it into the air.

Aziraphale’s cock is around average-sized in length, but surprisingly girthy, and with an intriguing curve that has Crowley instantly thinking about Aziraphale’s fantasy of fucking him on the couch.

“Touch yourself for me,” Crowley says, licking his lips.

Aziraphale takes himself in hand, eyes still riveted on Crowley’s cock as he begins to move his hand in a slow, steady rhythm that Crowley can’t help but emulate.

Crowley is still right _there_ , right on the verge of release, and it almost hurts to hold himself back, leaking precum as he watches Aziraphale touch himself.

“Need you to fuck me with that,” Crowley says without meaning to.

Aziraphale frowns, pausing from where he’d been jerking himself off.

“You know I can’t. But perhaps you could, ah, pretend,” he says. “Three or four of your fingers must be as wide as my cock.”

That self-conscious feeling from earlier comes back, hits him like a brick to the face, and suddenly he can barely breathe.

“You’d really want to watch that,” Crowley asks, mouth suddenly dry.

“My dear, I am the one who suggested that you pretend to open yourself up for me, so yes. I’d like that very much,” Aziraphale says, thumb tracing the head of his cock idly.

“’M not going to pretend anything,” Crowley says. “I’ll open myself up for you. You can take it or leave it.”

Aziraphale hisses out a breath. Crowley takes that as his cue to miracle up a bottle of lube. He gets on his hands and knees on the floor, his skinny ass on display for Aziraphale, as he coats the fingers of his right hand.

There’s a rustle as Aziraphale gets up from the couch, coming up behind him to draw a hand across one of Crowley’s cheeks.

“You’re lovely,” Aziraphale says from behind him.

Crowley freezes at the touch, a question on his lips, but he bites down on his lower lip to stop himself from voicing it out loud. If Aziraphale isn’t aware that he’s breached their unspoken contract, if he’s going to go ahead and touch Crowley, Crowley isn’t about to complain. 

Crowley brings a lubed finger back to circle at his hole, hyper-aware of Aziraphale’s eager gaze, heart beating fast even though it doesn’t need to beat at all.

“Relax,” Aziraphale says, from very close behind him. “Pretend I’ve decided to open you up with the laps of my tongue. Imagine the soft heat of it around you, inside you.”

“ _Aziraphale_ ,” Crowley says, choked. “Where the Heaven is all this coming from?”

“Please, my dear, just focus on the thought of my tongue in your hole, pushing up into you just the way you like, rubbing against the wall where the bump of your prostate is.”

“Mgk,” Crowley says.

He presses his finger inside gently. He’s always liked this part, always liked the tease of being entered first with something small, something that makes him feel full but not full enough. He breathes, nudging the finger inside to the first knuckle, then almost to the second.

With Aziraphale here, close enough that Crowley can feel his breath on his thighs, it’s easy to pretend that his finger is Aziraphale’s tongue. That Aziraphale is lapping at him, laving him, venturing his warm, wet tongue into the deep insides of his body. Crowley shudders.

“Are you thinking of me, dear?” Aziraphale asks.

“Couldn’t dream of making myself think of anything else,” Crowley says as he adds a second finger.

There’s some resistance, but the slide feels good, especially with Aziraphale’s body so close, almost close enough to feel his body heat. Crowley’s whole body is alight with nerves and fire, on edge in the best possible way. He feels so very full, full enough that he groans when he takes in his third finger. The fingers of his other hand are on his cock, and he tightens them, moving his cock in time to the thrusts of his fingers.

He’s close, so close, and he wants to let himself go this time.

But then Crowley hears the slick sounds of Aziraphale touching himself. He stops fucking himself with his fingers for a moment and looks back behind himself to see Aziraphale’s eyes squeezed shut, Aziraphale biting down on his lower lip like he’s trying desperately to keep quiet.

“You can be loud for me, angel,” Crowley pants as he starts moving his fingers again, “I want to hear you.”

“Oh, fuck,” Aziraphale says with feeling. “Oh, _Crowley_.”

Crowley is thrusting three fingers inside himself, but they don’t feel like nearly enough anymore. He wants more, wants the thickness of a cock inside him. He wants Aziraphale closer, wants him draped over his back with his cock nudging at his hole.

“Satan, Aziraphale, just fuck me already,” Crowley moans.

And maybe Satan is listening and feeling generous, because Aziraphale comes closer still, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Crowley’s neck. It’s the most electrifying thing he’s ever felt, Aziraphale’s mouth on him, Aziraphale finally, finally touching him after all these years. His tongue is silky and smooth, his lips as buttery soft as Crowley has always imagined.

Crowley groans, fucking himself harder with his fingers, angling them to try to find the spot that will have him seeing stars in no time.

“You can stop that,” Aziraphale says, nudging at Crowley’s fingers until Crowley slides them out of his ass. “I want — “

He crawls on top of Crowley, tweaking Crowley’s nipples gently with both hands, then running his hands down Crowley’s sides. At some point, Aziraphale must have miracled his clothes off, because Crowley can feel the warmth of Aziraphale’s bare skin.

“Aziraphale — ” Crowley pants, “What — ”

But then Aziraphale’s cock really is nudging at his hole, and it’s the single best thing he’s ever felt. He feels like if he grasped his own cock in one hand, he’d be able to come from this sensation alone, just from Aziraphale rubbing his cock up against his hole.

Crowley stops moving for a second, mentally stopping himself from coming again, wanting to enjoy every second of this. Aziraphale tongues Crowley’s neck again, licking his earlobe.

“My dear, may I enter you?” Aziraphale asks, voice breathy.

“Fuck, yes,” Crowley says, immediately, loudly.

Aziraphale’s cock feels slippery against his ass now, as if Aziraphale has just miracled lube on it. Crowley swallows. He can’t believe that this is really happening, especially given how quickly things have just escalated between them.

But this is really happening. Aziraphale is really nudging his cock inside of him, entering him slowly, pressing soft kisses to his neck the entire time.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Crowley swears.

“Oh, my dear, you feel lovely,” Aziraphale says. “You’re marvelous.”

Crowley feels his face heating. He’s had sex before, yes, but never like this, never with someone whispering sweet nothings in his ear while they fuck him.

“You, uh, you feel,” Crowley starts, then doesn’t know how to end the sentence. “Heavy. Good.”

“Would it be all right if I moved?” Aziraphale asks.

“It’d be a lot more than all right,” Crowley says with a grin.

Aziraphale pulls his hips back, then forward, fucking into Crowley. He grazes Crowley’s prostate on the first thrust — likely another miracle — but instead of the sensation being overpowering, it’s just _good_ , a steady, pleasant hum.

He doesn’t expect the way Aziraphale fucks him slowly, gently, like a lover rather than a rival. Aziraphale trails kisses down the back of his neck and his upper back, running his hands over Crowley’s chest and back as he rolls his hips like he can’t get enough of him. 

“Oh, my dear, my dear, you’re perfect,” Aziraphale breathes.

And the thing is that Crowley knows he is very, very far from perfect. But with Aziraphale here, worshipping him like this, he can almost believe it’s true.

Suddenly he wants to see the angel’s face, see the expression Aziraphale makes while he is inside him. He wants to burn that image into his retinas so he’ll remember it for thousands of years. He’s loath to change the angle with Aziraphale brushing his prostate with every thrust, but the need to see Aziraphale is more important even than Crowley’s own pleasure.

“Angel,” Crowley pants out, “I want to see you.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale says, stilling his hips, “Oh, of course. Should I — ?”

Aziraphale pulls himself out a bit, and Crowley finds himself already missing his warmth.

“Yes,” Crowley says. 

Aziraphale pulls out slowly, and the loss of him is jarring. Crowley rolls onto his back as soon as Aziraphale lifts up off of him and is immediately glad that he does, because Aziraphale looks like he’s just been presented with mountains of his favorite food, and a nice wine to go with. His eyes are hugely blown, more black than blue-grey, his cheeks flushed crimson, mouth open, lips pink and wanting.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley says, and he leans up and kisses him.

Aziraphale gasps into his mouth, then kisses back eagerly, lips open, tongue swirling into Crowley’s mouth. Aziraphale’s hands come down to touch Crowley’s face as he tongues into Crowley’s mouth, thumbs pressing circles onto his jaw, brush of his hard cock against Crowley’s thigh.

Aziraphale breaks the kiss only to look down between them and guide his cock back to Crowley’s hole, hand shaking minutely.

“May I?” Aziraphale asks, his wide eyes meeting Crowley’s own.

“Please,” Crowley says, nodding.

Aziraphale feels so good as he slides back inside Crowley, filling him up again. Crowley can’t help but moan, pushing back against Aziraphale as soon as Aziraphale is fully seated. 

“Oh, God,” Aziraphale blasphemes, fucking harder into Crowley.

He leans down and kisses Crowley again, open-mouthed, sloppy.

Aziraphale’s thrusts have become harder, deeper, hitting Crowley’s prostate square-on. Crowley curses, spots dancing at the edge of his vision, trying desperately to hold on before he comes, trying to make this moment last forever.

“Not yet,” Crowley tells his cock sternly, “If you make me come already, you have another thing coming.”

“I rather thought I might be the one to discipline you,” Aziraphale says, seeming to mistake Crowley’s words as being directed at him.

Crowley groans at the thought of that, of himself bent over Aziraphale’s knee being spanked hard, at Aziraphale putting his cock in a cage so that Crowley could only come when Aziraphale let him.

“Later,” Crowley promises, “But if you’re too rough with me now I won’t be able to stop myself and I might — ”

“Crowley, dear, you have no idea how much I want to see you let go,” Aziraphale says.

His lips meet Crowley’s again, still open-mouthed, but less gentle this time, as he thrusts roughly into Crowley, hands grasping Crowley’s hips hard enough to bruise. Aziraphale brackets Crowley’s bottom lip between his own and bites down.

Then he takes Crowley’s cock in one hand.

Crowley’s world stops. Everything narrows down to just this, just the slide of Aziraphale’s soft hand on his cock, the burn of Aziraphale’s cock thrusting hard inside him, the white-hot pleasure of Aziraphale simultaneously jerking him off and hitting his prostate just right.

He comes in thick spurts all over Aziraphale’s hand and his own stomach, panting hard, gasping.

“You’re so beautiful,” Aziraphale pants, still thrusting into him hard. “My dear Crowley. My love.”

And Crowley’s world stops again.

“What?” Crowley asks. “You can’t — you can’t just say — “

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Aziraphale moans, and he comes inside Crowley.

They stay intertwined for a long moment, both breathing heavily. Aziraphale is the first to move, pulling himself out then getting up and collapsing on the couch.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale says. “I shouldn’t have — ”

“Of course you bloody shouldn’t have said you loved me,” Crowley interrupts from where he’s still lying on the floor. “I’m a demon. I’m unlovable. You know that. Don’t say it unless you mean it.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale says. “I was actually apologizing for coming inside you without permission.”

“So you’re not sorry you said you loved me,” Crowley asks, snapping his fingers and miracling himself clean.

“Of course not, my dear,” Aziraphale says. “I meant it.”

“You meant it,” Crowley repeats slowly.

It’s strange. As an angel, Crowley had been able to feel others’ love, but now he feels nothing but emptiness. There’s no way to tell if Aziraphale is telling the truth, if he really means it. He’s loved Aziraphale for so long that he doesn’t want to get his hopes up only to find out that Aziraphale wasn’t sure, didn’t mean it.

“Of course I meant it. How could I not? Now come here,” Aziraphale says, motioning to the couch.

“There’s not enough room for me up there,” Crowley says. “We’d need a bed if you wanted to, well… _cuddle_.”

He spits the last word out like a curse, looking away from Aziraphale so the angel won’t be able to see how his cheeks have colored at the thought, and Aziraphale chuckles.

“There’s enough room now,” he says, “Look.”

Crowley looks up, and the couch has transformed into a bed, king size, sheets (all tartan, of course) made up, fluffy-looking pillows lying at the head.

Crowley pretends like he’s thinking about it, but secretly he doesn’t mind the concept of cuddling so much, as long as it’s with Aziraphale.

He steps back into his silk boxers, then makes his way to the bed where Aziraphale is laid out, naked, all soft thighs and round stomach.

“Heaven will probably be on my case about frivolous miracles again, given the Blitz,” Aziraphale says, throwing an arm over Crowley as if they do this every day.

“Don’t you think Heaven will be on your case about something else entirely?” Crowley asks, eyebrows raised.

“Ah,” Aziraphale says. “That. Well, given that I was on top, I could always say I was fucking you into submission. Teaching you your place.”

Crowley feels the tips of his ears heating up. He’s still not used to Aziraphale talking like this.

Aziraphale continues, “You like the sound of that, don’t you? Next time, my love.”

“Next time?” Crowley asks. “What happened to all that reluctance? You told me we were only going to do this once, for Hell’s sake.”

“It’s like I said earlier,” Aziraphale says. “That once I touch you, I’ll never be able to have enough again. The thing is that now I have touched you, my dear. It’s like setting off an explosion. You can’t go back and un-set it. It’s happened and now it’ll change the shape of your life, however minutely.”

“Is that what I am? Minute?” Crowley asks, but there’s no real heat behind his words.

“I should think you’re quite the opposite,” Aziraphale says.

He presses a soft kiss to Crowley’s forehead. Crowley closes his eyes.

He thinks he can live with that.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi to me on tumblr! cringehands.tumblr.com


End file.
